


Do I Have Your Consent?

by Deeranger



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Blackmail, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Consent Issues, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Feels, Hair-pulling, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Intimidation, M/M, No Sex, No Slash, Sad Ending, Tied-Up Dean Winchester, Tumblr Prompt, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 12:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19106701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deeranger/pseuds/Deeranger
Summary: All Sam has to do to stop the pain is to say yes to Lucifer. But when he selflessly refuses and just keeps taking the blows, what can the devil possibly do to change his mind?





	Do I Have Your Consent?

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is based on this Tumblr prompt:
> 
> Tell me; What happens when Lucifer asks Sam to be his vessel and Sam refuses...What other ways can Lucifer get Sam to say... Yes?

 

”Oh, Sammy… You really _do_ think you deserve it, don’t you?” Lucifer taunts, circling his struggling victim on the blood spattered floor. The room reverberates with ragged and heavy breathing along with the subtle clicking of the soles of Lucifer’s dress shoes while he stalks closer to Sam who still can’t manage to get up on all fours. The last kick to his gut had been a particularly vicious one, and with several broken ribs he simply can’t get his body to cooperate – instead he keeps falling back down every time he manages to inch himself just a tiny bit upwards on shaking arms.

 

“All of this self loathing… The guilt… The fear… You reek of it!” the fallen archangel snarls, stepping closer and grabbing a fistful of Sam’s chestnut locks.

 

“Aren’t you getting tired? You can end this, Sam. Make the pain stop…” he whispers in the young Winchester’s ear, his breath hitting the shell of it in moist puffs of air.

 

“All you need to do is say ‘yes’…”

 

Sam has stopped fighting back by now. It is to no avail, and he knows it all too well. Even though his entire body is one big mosaic of bruises and lacerations, he lets Lucifer forcefully pull him up on his knees by the hair, sending a stinging pain through his scalp. He doesn’t even resist.

 

“No,” Sam just says, the word coming out in a gasp. No matter what the archangel is going to do to him, he is not going to give him his consent. Not now, not ever.

 

“Just say yes, Sam. It will make everything a lot easier. For both of us,” Lucifer whispers, trailing an index finger down the side of his neck, the tip of its nail following the jugular vein in a silent threat. A small hiss escapes Sam, but he doesn’t move.

 

“Go to hell!”

 

A small chuckle escapes the creature by the defiance in the hunter’s voice, and the sound of it makes chills instantly run down Sam’s spine in icy cascades.

 

“Aww, that’s just rude. Tsk, tsk… But you know what? I’m gonna let that slide. Give you one last chance. What do you say, bunk buddy?” Lucifer says in a voice that mimics one of true fondness. But even though his voice sounds sugary sweet, his fist is twisting the handful of hair at the same time and making new ripples of pain shoot through Sam’s body. Wheezing the young hunter gasps for air, screwing his eyes firmly shut.

 

“No,” he repeats, and the firm tone of his voice leaves no room for misunderstandings. He’s so hoarse from saying that word by now that the inside of his throat feels like sandpaper. But he swears that he will keep saying it until he no longer has a voice. The archangel lets out a huff.

 

“Oh, Sam… I am disappointed. But not surprised,” he says, and the single finger trailing down Sam’s neck suddenly turns to five, closing around his throat and beginning to squeeze. The hunter’s breath hitches automatically, but he doesn’t move. Instead he just stares at the spatters of blood on the floor, focusing on a particularly dark one with small specks of black on its surface. Zoning out he waits. Stares at the blotch of red on the floor boards, seeping through the battered wood. Waits for the grip to turn meaner and cut off his air completely, waits for himself to die only to be brought back yet again. He has lost count of how many times he has died in this room by now.

 

“See, this is where it gets interesting…” Lucifer’s voice says, and Sam shudders. The fingers are closed around his neck, pressing hard against his Adam’s apple – but he can still breathe. A little confused by the stalling Sam forces himself to just sag in the angel’s grip, to relax his muscles and wait for the inevitable. But then the creature smothering him begins to chuckle. A deep, rumbling chuckle. And before Sam has the chance to process what is going on the fingers around his neck lift and disappear. Even the hand in his hair vanishes and so does the crushing weight of Lucifer’s body on top of his. Without the constant pull on his hair Sam collapses on to the floor with a surprised, wheezing noise. As he lands, small bubbles of pink escape his mouth, slipping out between his cracked lips. Dizzily he realizes that he probably has a punctured lung.

 

“You are going to give me your consent. You know that, right?” Lucifer smirks, and the floorboards give off a creaking sound as he moves to stand back up. Sam can hear him circling him again, and occasionally he is nudged with the nose of the angel’s pointy shoe as if he is making sure that the hunter is indeed still awake. But Sam doesn’t want to dignify his comment with a response. Instead he just lies there, sprawled on the floor and with his face down in the pools of blood. His own blood.

 

“You see, this was just warm-up. A bit of fun… But as much as I do love our private, little play dates…” Lucifer begins, stalking slowly towards the door.

 

“… I decided to let another player join us,” he concludes, and now something creeps into his voice that makes every single hair on Sam’s body stand up straight. Weakly he manages to lift and turn his head, muscles and tendons straining painfully, and he looks at the angel who is extending his hand towards the door handle. As he does another bloody bubble seeps out between Sam’s lips, and he coughs, wincing as the coppery taste fills his mouth and starts to spill from its corners. He is feeling tired. So tired. But he can’t help but follow the angel’s movements as his hand closes around the door handle and turns it, swinging the heavy, wooden door open with a shriek of its rusty hinges. And instantly Sam’s eyes widen. He can see a set of black eyes on a demon standing in the doorway, but that is not his major focus – his glance instantly settles on the struggling figure being pushed into the room. He can’t see the man’s face, because he is fighting back hard, kicking out wildly – and only half of his body is inside the room. But everything about him seems all too familiar. Right down to the boots kicking with enough force to snap bones should he manage to hit anyone. A lightning bolt of pure dread explodes in Sam’s mind, and he snaps for air.

 

“D-Dean…?!”

 

Again Lucifer chuckles dryly, grabbing a hold of Dean’s shoulders and pulling him forcefully into the room. And there is no doubt left in Sam’s mind, no room whatsoever for optimism or the tiniest shimmer of hope. This is his brother.

 

“You don’t mind, do you, Sammy? I thought it was time to spice things up a little,” Lucifer purrs, eyes narrowed and hands fisted in Dean’s flannel shirt. With his arms firmly secured with rope behind his back, the older Winchester doesn’t stand a chance when the angel kicks him in the back of the knee, forcing him down on the floor. As his knee caps connect with the wooden floorboards, giving off a loud ‘smack’, Dean shouts out – but it just turns into a muffled noise behind the gag that has been stuffed into his mouth. Only now does Sam notice that one of the sleeves on his brother’s shirt is missing – and that this checkered piece of torn fabric is the very thing effectively muting him. Sam’s heart feels like it is plummeting to the bottom of his stomach, mind flooding with a new wave of panic and he instantly scrambles to get up from the floor – but he can’t get his body to move the way he wants it to. He can’t get up. God help him, he can’t get up no matter how hard he tries. Instead he just awkwardly strains, trying to get up on his elbows and failing miserably when his aching muscles give in and send him right back down on the red and slippery floor.

 

“Let him go!” Sam coughs, managing to glower directly at Lucifer for the first time in a while. He can see Dean looking at him in his peripheral vision, emerald eyes wide and angry and hurt and a thousand things more.

 

“Now why would I go and do such a stupid thing?” Lucifer huffs, planting a hand solidly on Dean’s sleeveless shoulder, digging his fingertips into the freckled skin.

 

“No, I’m actually thinking of keeping him… “ he smiles, letting his fingers slip into the torn shirt to explore the skin there. What can only be profanities are drowned out by the gag when Dean instantly tries to twist away from the touch, fighting to get back on his feet. But a rough hand grips the back of his neck, a thumb digging into the flesh where neck meets shoulder and pressing hard enough to rip what sounds like a yelp from the older Winchester’s throat. 

 

“Oh, we’ll have so much fun! He’ll be my new bunk buddy. And you get to watch, Sammy…” Lucifer says, voice flat as he finds a nipple under the flannel and twists it. Dean frowns, an incoherent sound escaping him. His eyes are searching Sam’s, scanning and apparently trying to assess the damage while trying to decipher exactly what the angel wants at the same time.

 

“Would you like that?” the angel asks, his dark gaze flicking down to settle on the young hunter sprawled helplessly on the floor. Drawing in a ragged breath he didn’t even know he had been holding Sam can feel his eyes water up, and a whole new kind of horror fills up his mind.

 

“No!” he bursts out, the palms of his hands skidding around in the blood once more in an attempt to push his body up. But he is too weak. Every ounce of strength seems to have left his body, vanished and evaporated like dew in direct sunlight. There is literally nothing left. Something tickles and he feels a tear rolling down his cheek for the first time in days, leaving a streak of visible skin in the mess of blood on his face. He had been certain that he was far too numb from all of the beatings and all of the humiliation to even be able to cry if he wanted to. But not anymore.

 

“Don’t! Please, just let him go!” he yells – but it is more like a whisper dissolving into yet another cough. Lucifer tilts his head – sort of like a curious canine – and bares his teeth in a wide grin.

 

“Really? I always thought you were quite the voyeur!” he mocks, grabbing a hold of Dean’s throat when he starts to thrash again. The older Winchester stills when the angel adds just enough pressure to remind him just how easily his neck will snap.

 

“I guess I am mistaken then. But that doesn’t mean I can’t show my new bunk buddy the ropes, does it?” Lucifer says, and a wicked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth when he palms himself through his fancy dress pants. From his position on the floor Dean can’t see it – but Sam certainly can, and his stomach churns violently.

 

“Please…!” Sam hears himself gasp through some more blood bubbles, and for a moment he isn’t sure if he is about to pass out or if he is simply dying. Even though he has died so many times already it is still sometimes hard to tell the difference, and right now his mind is spinning so frantically that he can’t make heads or tails of anything at all.

 

“Begging already? For what, I wonder?” the angel asks, letting go of his crotch only to grab Dean’s hair, yanking back his head.   

 

“Let him go…” Sam manages to croak, and he fights to ignore the protesting sounds coming from his brother as well as the urgency in his glare.

 

“You know what? I just might… But I want something in return,” Lucifer says, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly as he pierces Sam with his gaze.

 

“And I think you know what it is. I’m not asking for much, really… Just one little word,” he smiles, pulling at Dean’s short strands of hair as he speaks. Another muffled protest escapes the older Winchester, and he tries to shake his head as much as the grip on his hair will allow. Sam closes his eyes, both to try to stop the room from spinning and to block out what is happening. Block out Lucifer. The desperate look on his brother’s face. Reality. Everything.

 

“What’s it gonna be? Do I have your consent?” Lucifer asks, a smug expression spreading on his face while he cracks yet another, wide smile. As his cold eyes pierce Sam to the bone, the young hunter blinks rapidly, trying to clear his vision of the thick layer of tears that suddenly clouds it. Something close to a sob then escapes him, and his head drops down. As his feverish forehead rests against the soiled floorboards he tries another small ‘please’, but he knows it falls on deaf ears. He can hear his brother screaming behind the torn flannel gag, and it feels like his heart is ripped to shreds as it hammers away in his chest, banging against his sternum in a panic. He has no choice. His mind races, his pulse roars in his ears and his entire being is internally letting out a primal scream which feels like it shatters his very soul. No choice.

 

“Sammyyyy?” the archangel singsongs, impatience lacing his voice. As another pink bubble made of spit and blood oozes out between Sam’s lips, he fights to lift his head enough to look Lucifer in the eye.

 

“W-Will you let him g-go?” he rasps, suppressing a cough. The smug expression on the angel’s face intensifies.

 

“Yes,” he states. And Dean screams behind the gag, thrashing wildly in the strong grip, no longer caring about the pain it causes or the consequences it might have. The sight of his brother helpless like this rips Sam’s heart in two. So does the ultimatum and the confidence plastered all over the archangel’s face. No choice. As the very last remnants of Sam’s defiance are washed away, he nods weakly. The devil smiles wider. And Dean screams louder.

 

“Then say yes to me, Sam…” Lucifer whispers. In any other situation the tone of his voice would be interpreted as compassionate. But it is anything but. It hides more than just malice, more than just cruel intent. It hides pure evil. A gut wrenching feeling of hopelessness washes through Sam and spreads like endless rings in the water, and he can’t hold back a small whimper when his entire body shakes.

 

“Do I have your consent?” the devil asks. And the entire world seems to flip, seems to turn inside out and back again. Because Sam feels himself cast down his glance and his throat straining to speak. It hurts. Both physically as his raw throat works to formulate a response, but also mentally. On so many levels. Because of what he is about to do. The only thing that hurts more is the look on his brother’s face – he can’t avoid it, can’t block it out. Even though he can only see him out of the corner of his eye, blurred out by tears, he knows that he will never be able to erase that image. Never. It is etched into his mind, branded. A searing pain that Sam can’t even tell where comes from fills him as he finally lets his lips move. And he doesn’t recognize his own voice. But it _is_ his.

 

“Yes.”

 

The word is so small. Tiny. Weak. But still it seems to bounce off the walls, echoing against every surface and jumping back at him with a vengeance, amplitude multiplying. Like it is mocking him. And it should. Because the devil’s toothy smile grows impossibly wide, triumph on display on his face as the word slowly fades into silence, finally absorbed by everything and nothing. But everyone heard it. Everyone.  

 

        

       


End file.
